


If Things Were Said

by gwennolmarie



Series: Lifeline, Lifeblood [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Age Difference, Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blood Drinking, Creampie, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Marking, Misunderstandings, Power Imbalance, Pre-Canon, Resolved Sexual Tension, Tender Sex, VERY BRIEF DUBIOUS CONSENT MORE IN NOTES
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-27
Updated: 2019-05-27
Packaged: 2020-03-20 13:36:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18993691
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwennolmarie/pseuds/gwennolmarie
Summary: “You know I think I can count the times I’ve said this in my life on one hand,” Arthur says firmly, “All the times I’ve said it knowin’ what it means.”





	If Things Were Said

**Author's Note:**

> okay so there's a brief misunderstanding where john assumes arthur got drunk because that's the only way the older man could stand to fuck him but it's resolved VERY quickly and no one is actually drunk

 

Arthur pulls away.

The haze of staring at the same hole in the canvas for countless hours lifts from John.

Along with the weight of Arthur’s arm on his waist.

John blinks, rubs his dry, itching eyes, and turns over.

He wishes he hadn’t turned over.

He catches the last glimpse of Arthur’s eyes darting over him before the older man’s face closes off.

Like lowering blinds in a window, a shop sign flipped from ‘OPEN’ to ‘CLOSED’.

John fidgets with his sleeve cuffs.

“Go water the horses, we should leave soon,” Arthur’s sleep-rough voice mutters towards him as the older man goes to dig through his saddlebags.

John does as told, a sinking feeling in his gut.

\--

They get to the saloon a little before noon only to see Dutch and Hosea shaking hands with an elderly gentleman before the stranger takes his leave.

“Ah, boys!” Hosea calls with a smile.

“Was that the man you was makin’ a deal with?” John asks with a nod towards the retreating figure.

“It was,” Dutch smirks, “Things went swimmingly, of course.”

“I had no doubts,” Hosea jokes and Dutch’s nose twitches in annoyance.

The two older men mount their horses and the four of them ride back to base-camp.

\--

It takes eight days this time for John to really feel _hungry._

He sits at the campfire, across from Arthur, sipping on the broth of this night’s stew, barely tasting it.

His foot is tapping against the damp grass, still wet from this morning’s showers.

Arthur rises.

John watches him turn in his bowl to the pile at the edge of the fire then bid his goodnights.

John _counts_ the seconds.

One-hundred and twenty of them before rising himself and placing his bowl down.

“G’night,” He mutters to the gang and gets tired replies after the hectic day they’d had.

Just one of those days where a million-and-one things seem to go wrong.

Like karma decided to play catch up.

John walks a round-a-bout way to Arthur’s ten and hovers.

His gut clenches, he swallows hard, turns, and goes to his own tent.

\--

Dutch forms an elaborate plan, a long-term job, with fake names and faker facades of wealth and good breeding.

They get to stay in a house though.

A single-level, sprawling house.

Biggest John’s ever been in.

It’s hard to fall into the rhythm of socializing during the day and coming back in the evening to just…

Sit in his room.

He knows Arthur draws and writes, Dutch and Hosea plot and plan.

And he sits, pressing a hand against his stomach with each aching hunger-pang.

He has a stack of books on the nightstand that he hasn’t touched.

They’re all so… _intellectual._

Constantly using words he doesn’t recognize with not enough context to be kind to the lesser-learned.

John fidgets with the laces on his nightshirt.

With the amount of privacy he’s been afforded it’s a small pleasure, wearing something so comfortable.

He could probably sleep nude, but paranoia over something happening in the middle of the night stops him.

He swallows thickly, rubbing his temples before laying back and burrowing his face into the cool pillow.

He closes his eyes, tries to sleep even though he knows it’s hopeless.

\--

There’s a small knock on his door, the quick one-two that Arthur’s used the entire time John’s known him.

“Come in?” John murmurs in confusion.

It’s well past midnight.

The door opens slowly, doesn’t even creak, and Arthur steps inside the room, quick and silent, before closing the door and locking it behind him.

John blinks at him slowly but doesn’t move to sit up, knowing the dizziness will black-out his vision.

“Hey,” The older man says awkwardly.

“Hey…” John’s brows furrow.

Arthur looks restless.

“I know you’re…” Arthur clears his throat and looks out the window before moving and pulling the curtains closed.

“Arthur?”

“You ain’t good at hidin’ it, once someone knows what to look for,” Arthur murmurs and turns to face the younger.

“Oh.”

“John,” The older man sighs, “I know I ain’t… I’m not…”

Arthur cuts himself off with a sharp tilt of his head and John wants to know what the older man just told himself mentally because it’s so damn obvious that it was unkind.

“C’mon,” Arthur says as he moves to the bed and gestures for John to scoot.

John shuffles to the foot of the bed, sitting up as slowly as possible, watching Arthur carefully.

Arthur sits up against the headboard and eyes him expectantly, hands on either side of his hips.

John’s fingers curl anxiously before he crawls over the older man and settles in Arthur’s lap.

The older man’s hands immediately hike up his nightshirt and John startles at the rough grip on his thighs.

Arthur’s looking up at him, eyelids heavy, gaze hot.

Burning.

Burning.

Burning.

John inhales shakily and his head cocks at the smell of alcohol on Arthur’s breath.

“Arthur, you drunk?” John asks quietly, worriedly.

The older man’s fingers dig bruisingly into the meat of his thighs.

The edge of John’s nightshirt is only _just_ covering his cock.

“Not drunk,” Arthur whispers.

“But not sober?”

Arthur stares at him then closes his eyes and tilts his head, stretching his neck invitingly and moving his hands to John’s bare ass.

“Arthur…” The younger says sadly.

He remembers the way Arthur withdrew after last time, after what John said.

The thought that Arthur could only comply with his request with alcohol coursing through him twists John’s gut harder than his hunger.

John clenches his hands in the older man’s shirt then pushes back, keeping Arthur at arms’ length.

“C’mon, John, you need it,” The older man reasons.

“Nah,” John shakes his head slowly, “No.”

“What?”

“Not like this. You can’t just…” John takes a shaky breath in and presses the heels of his palms against his closed eyes, “If you don’t want me _fine,_ but don’t do this.”

“Do what?” Arthur asks, there’s a catch in his voice though, John _hears_ it just as loud as the older man’s heartbeat.

“You fuck me, then what? Pretend it didn’t happen tomorrow?” John hisses, tone wounded, and looks up, “Then what happens next time? Would you even let me near you again?”

“John,” Arthur murmurs slowly.

“You would, you do that, Arthur, someone gets close and you pull away, ever since Mary.”

Arthur’s lips part and the older man looks away.

John feels the tingling of goosebumps crawl over his shoulders.

“Do you want to,” John asks quietly, “Fuck me?”

Arthur’s mouth closes and he looks guilt-ridden.

John twists his hand in the too-long cuff of the sleeve.

“You fuck me, and you let me feed, right?” John whispers.

Arthur’s Adam’s Apple bobs with a strained swallow, mouth moving but no sounds coming out.

“Okay,” John whispers, grabs the hem of his nightshirt and pulls it over his head, holding it tight in one hand before letting it fall to the floor beside the bed.

Arthur looks at him sharply and John keeps his expression neutral.

“You got something slick?” John asks.

Arthur’s hand twitches towards his pocket and then stills.

“You… John…?” Arthur’s voice is strained.

John shifts in the older man’s lap and worms his fingers into the pocket, fishing out the little tin.

“John,” Arthur says thickly as the younger stares at the tin, “I only had one shot.”

The younger’s face goes slack in surprise at that confession, but he doesn’t look up.

John sets the tin down next to them and starts undoing the buttons on Arthur’s pants.

The older man’s lips part, wanting to say something but not knowing what to say.

John’s fingers curl around his cock and the younger’s grip is hesitant.

“You don’t pull away, you let me feed again, next time?” John asks carefully.

“John, I wouldn’t starve you,” Arthur says insistently, “I’ve told you, every time, to come to me and you don’t.”

“We have a deal?” John asks, voice low.

“I… I suppose.”

John reaches for the tin and flicks it open, setting it on Arthur’s thigh and digging into the gel with two fingers.

He slowly starts to stroke Arthur as he reaches his hand behind him and slicks up his hole.

He preps messy, quick and rough and purely to stretch himself.

To prevent any physical harm from accompanying the emotional.

He squeezes the base of Arthur’s cock then shuffles forward and presses the head against his hole.

Arthur’s hands move quick as lightning, fast as his quickdraw, gripping John’s hips with the sharp sound of flesh on flesh.

There’s a residual sting from the impact.

John tries to lower his hips, impale himself but can’t.

He rubs his thumb on the underside of Arthur’s length then looks up at the older man whose face is twisted in conflict.

“Do _you_ want this?” Arthur asks quietly, “Not generally, not as a trade-off, but right now?”

John’s grip slacks around him and Arthur lets out a slow breath before lowering his head, eyes closed.

“One shot?” John asks.

“One, just one, I swear,” Arthur confirms.

“You don’t avoid me tomorrow, you _don’t_ do that to me,” John pleads, “You know how I feel ‘bout you, right?”

“How do you feel about me?” Arthur asks and lifts his head to meet the younger’s glassy eyes.

“You can _guess,”_ John hisses, brows drawing together.

“I can, but I wanna hear you say it.”

John’s nose scrunches and he shoves at Arthur’s hands and presses his hips down, Arthur’s cock sliding into him roughly.

“Damn,” The older man gasps.

John’s hands shake as he steadies himself with his palms on Arthur’s stomach, shucking up the older man’s shirt roughly.

“I... love you,” John says quietly, voice thin, “You ass.”

“God,” Arthur whispers and his head falls back against the headboard.

John tries to even out his breathing and relax against the sensation of being _full._

He can tell Arthur’s bigger than average, for as many dicks he’s seen in passing.

His eyes have never been bigger than his stomach but his eyes definitely deceived him in how big Arthur would feel _inside him._

John’s legs clench and his breaths are stuttering as he lifts himself up with a gut-punch sound.

“Shit, go slow, boy,” Arthur warns.

John’s toes curl and press down into the comforter.

He lowers himself slowly and Arthur’s hands return to cup his hips.

John pants quietly, eyes closing involuntarily and his head lolling forward.

“Fuck,” The younger whimpers, whole body tense.

“You okay?” Arthur asks worriedly and moves his hands up to squeeze John’s shoulders lightly.

The younger pushes his hands away and leans in, grazing his fangs against Arthur’s neck, the older man inhaling deeply.

“Please?” John whispers.

“‘Course,” Arthur bends his knees and draws his legs up to help support John in his lap.

John rocks his hips and pierces deep into Arthur’s neck in one fluid motion.

Arthur groans low in his ear and John feels his own cock jerk with the sound.

He rocks his hips gently, trying to adjust as he slowly withdraws his fangs and closes his lips around the holes.

The now-familiar taste of the older man’s blood coats his tongue, is _hot_ going down his throat.

Arthur’s hands hover before finding homes on John’s waist and the back of the younger’s head.

The older man digs his heels into the mattress and lifts his hips in time with John’s movements.

The younger man makes a choked sound against his skin and sits up to look at Arthur, red tinting his lips and his nails digging into the older man’s stomach.

Arthur’s fingers bite hard into the soft flesh between his ribs and hipbone as the older man thrusts up into him, Arthur’s other hand sliding from his hair to his thigh.

He holds John firmly, the younger gasping, cock bouncing with each thrust.

John clenches his teeth and dips his head, eyes closing tight as he moves one hand, scraping his nails down Arthur’s abdomen before wrapping his fingers around his own length.

Arthur groans at the sight, John flushed and hazy with the overwhelming feeling of being _fucked._

The older man pulls the younger down against him, so their hips are flush and _grinds_ into John, against John, as deep as he is, as much as John’s stretched around him…

John curses and squeezes the base of his own dick, clenching around Arthur and _not wanting this to end yet._

The younger’s knees squeeze against the sides of Arthur’s abdomen with each roll of the older man’s hips.

“Dammit,” Arthur mumbles and grits his teeth before whispering, “Bite me.”

“What?” John lifts his head to see the older man furiously blushing and looking towards the ceiling.

“Bite me, John, I wanna come like that,” Arthur says quickly, shamefully, “ _Together_ like that.”

John stares, eyes flicking over the older man’s face before shifting to grab Arthur’s forearm, pressing his lips to the sun-freckled wrist.

He sinks his fangs in, watching Arthur’s chest jerk with a gasp.

John grinds down and grips Arthur’s arm with both hands.

And watches, as Arthur’s eyes slowly make their way to leveling with his own, the rough fingertips of the older man’s other rubbing deep into the meat of his thigh.

Arthur moves to take John’s cock in hand and pulls the foreskin back to rub his thumb over the reddened head.

John makes a needful sound against Arthur’s wrist and finds a rhythm of rocking his hips, trapped between the two types of stimulation.

His back arches and he twists, looking at Arthur desperately, knowing he’s close to coming.

And he knows it’s not what Arthur meant by ‘together’ but he wants _that_ too.

So he rips his fangs out roughly and bites further up Arthur’s forearm, watching the older man freeze and groan lowly.

John misses on purpose, watching the blood trickle out of his previous bites on Arthur’s wrist from the corner of his vision.

Then glancing at the red marks on Arthur’s neck.

At Arthur’s chest and stomach and the marks he’s left with his nails.

At the older man watching him with so much trust and _desire_ that it constricts John’s chest…

And his gut.

John reaches down with one hand and moves Arthur’s grip from his cock to the younger’s hip with a pointed downward thrust.

“Please,” he begs against the older man’s skin with his fangs still buried.

Arthur’s faces softens briefly, his arm wrapping around John to pull the younger down, almost laying on top of the older.

He adjusts them so he can thrust up into John, hard and slow, looking down to where they’re connected.

Then looking into John’s watery eyes, where the younger is watching him so intensely.

“Christ,” Arthur hisses, and jerks his hips up sharply, losing his rhythm.

John makes a small, thready noise in response and clenches around the cock inside him, squeezes Arthur’s sides with his knees.

Arthur groans louder than before and his hand presses down on John’s lower back as he presses in as deeply as possible, coming inside the younger.

John grips his own cock and tilts his hips to feel Arthur pressing, pushing, stretching him as he comes into his cupped hand.

“John,” Arthur murmurs with a one last, soft roll of his hips causing the younger to gasp.

John carefully retracts his fangs, something he’d learned to control in his many sleepless nights, tenderly kisses Arthur’s forearm, panting, and cleans up the spilt blood.

“John,” Arthur murmurs again and pulls his arm back to himself.

The younger has a moment of sitting there, helplessly perched in the older man’s lap with a hand covered in his own spend and Arthur’s dick still inside him, worried _like hell_ that this is it.

This is when Arthur pulls away, closes off, shuns him.

Arthur roughly wipes John’s hand off after grabbing the discarded nightshirt, wraps both arms around the younger, and pulls John close, so that John is cradled against his chest as Arthur’s cock slides out of him wetly and the younger protests quietly.

The fingers of one of Arthur’s hands slide over the rim of his hole, as the older man’s come leaks out of him slowly.

John swallows hard then rests his cheek on Arthur’s collarbone tiredly, emotionally and physically spent…

But feeling safe, and sated in so many ways.

Arthur’s other hand comes up to brush John’s hair back from where it’s clinging to the sweat at his temple.

“I couldn’t cut you out of my life even I wanted too,” Arthur murmurs, “And I sure as shit don’t want to.”

John nudges his forehead against the older man’s jaw, acknowledging the words but not sure how to respond.

Arthur’s fingers play in the dark tangles of John’s hair absentmindedly.

“You know I think I can count the times I’ve said this in my life on one hand,” Arthur says firmly, “All the times I’ve said it knowin’ what it means.”

John leans his head back as Arthur turns to look at him, face drawn tight in seriousness.

“And you might not hear it from me often, not in such simple words, but I do, John,” Arthur says, “I do love you.”

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> hey so hope you like that this is the end of the lifeline, lifeblood series and ngl i shed a tear when i finished it partly because this is the first series with this much emotional build up that i've completed and partially because i fucking die at the idea of arthur actually saying that 
> 
> as ALWAYS my socials are all @gwennolmarie  
> <3333333333333


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